I stumble and slip by words, we DaNcE

I’ve got to buy a black tie, a shoe or two,

my off-white shirt hung on steeped lines of mind

and my factitious face is to be blurred so I could

be a stranger amid the strangers of words

and sneak my anonymity into the festivity

 

will you dance with me tonight?

I would hold you, lead you but we would as much fall,

I stumble through rhymes, I slip through rhythm,

a mellow hand can walk me across the room

to the out where the moon shines and stars make a queue

 

will you… will you hold my hand tonight?

I will burp after a huge serving of delight

brought forth by the luminescent phantoms,

let me twirl around like a swan, let me

shake my waist of rusted verse, let me dance

 

will you abjure structure for me tonight?

come, let us walk to the antediluvian tide of time

where I slither through your hands like wet soil,

that should be the end, the vessel of life

I leave to you, take a sip and make a move

 

a poem infused in my vein, a drug-induced sleep

I never wake up, or if I do, I am still naked

devoid of diction, I smother my earnest arms

while feathers of summer float down the sky in shards

and I blow like a balloon along the breeze that lasts

 

For dVerse, where the celebrations are plenteous and the dance is going on.

Image source: 10 Hairy Legs’ Scott Schneider in Julie Bour’s “The Blind Men and the Elephant”. Scenic Design: Benjamin Heller. Photo: Steven Trumon Gray.

Anm

hey poet, I would like to walk with you

I was hollow, still am if you prod my vocabulary

to pinpoint that sensation when I desert the words

or do they me, the time is my solemn constabulary

and shields my malady I tell of, or so you’ve heard

 .

how you see my silver stories, filled cups of caffeine,

I cherish yours for they have a linen white reality

thou art a poet, I am a subjective grain seldom seen,

it was a dire dare that made me relinquish my sanity

 .

I am a sentimental sucker, I suck blood red lollipops

to keep me company, I would like to walk with you

you don’t know me but I encroach upon, I shop

for a locket of learning in creative world you drew

 .

I seal a numinous bond with your words, your poetry,

a stubborn in-patient, would you empathize with me?

I wilt within the blanket, my knees sing of coquetry

no grudge, no love, observing, I sail in waves of glee

 .

and I think to revere you poet of old, I shall holler

that I receive from all that you touch with your color

.

For MLM Menagerie’s Wordle # 17 and dVerse, where the odes/tributes to the poets flow out  today.

Anm

Image source

Lips’ Conundrum

 

the lips mumble and go silent

when the bricks fall apart,

one by one: a pile of a life,

striking each other to

demolish some and let

the rest create a conundrum

 .

he has been a mook, a chancer

scavenging for gold in garbage

none do understand, none will know

that his is a life lived tomorrow,

present is a hive of expectations,

past is what has been escaped

 .

that has lighted up the bulb:

a 50 watts power, gleaming

when it goes dark, haranguing

to itself, none to listen, none would,

the bricks keep falling, the eyes

drop out, and the lips now mum

to let the story reach its end

.

(Art by Gabriel Neffke)

Written in consideration of Photo Challenge #16 at Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie.

Anm

Green

a bud reaches out

conjured by the smoke whirls-

day light blows off

.

green tunnel of trees-

a boy from a passing bus

plucks a specked leaf

.

An inactive spell has infiltrated my mind and my senses nowadays. And here I wrote what I saw in a memory or a dream, when it arrived at my door of current thought.

For Carpe Diem # 507 and the upcoming prompt of Heeding Haiku With HA on Wedbesday, where I talk about improvising our haiku by taking care of certain details while writing. Do not forget to visit Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie for a variety of writing prompts throughout the week,

Image source

Anm

I think I cawed at the crow today

I saw a crow today, he sat

upon a dish antenna

singing to his self his melancholy,

looking hither-thither, to find

a lost comrade or may be it is

just his proclivity,

.

my eyes fixated at his actions

he never looked at me, not a single while

but I resolved myself to the spot

thinking that if I stand for long

he would glide and come sit atop

my shoulder, or may be it was

just a proclivity of my mind

.

nevertheless he took his flight

never was a flight so entrancing,

not that of a peacock, not a koel,

not even an eagle,

and I think he prided himself

in his beauty: his disparity,

and that of my own

Anm.

Written on 3 July’2014.

Oil Painting by Vanessa van Eyk

Sometimes I forget my name

sometimes I forget my name

in the thrust of the wind

and thirst of the mind,

I am hanging along the lines

of identities, in crisis of

life, in need of a clarity

.

sometimes I forget my name

to find me on streets, walking

as if I am aware where they go

they do not end by my

illusion of identity, in haze of

the light, in worlds unreal

.

sometimes I forget my name

when I explore on the map-

a dimension where I could

find the portal to bring me

back, I am a solid mass in

weightless sky, in words untrue

.

sometimes I forget my name

because I have embraced so much

that is beyond me, I fly above

ground, while my tethers are

still rooted within the soil, in

need of me to come back to me

.

sometimes I forget my name

and I think that is alright

as long as I do not rule myself

out of me, as long as I am there

to see, to feel, to touch, in lands

of this reality, I may still find me

.

Image source

A Summer Day, A Righteous Right

loudspeakers laughing as the electricity is cut off

and the door to be thrust away from its hinges

to allow a wisp of the wind to course through, and

warm the already sticking skin, bewildered with

tears coursing down (I am drowning, in puddles of

sweat and noise and dust, this confusing love)

.

beep– beep– beep: I mimic the vehicles, I

can be a ventriloquist, or better a mime

copying actions in a frenzy of seconds to

sew myself away from boredom that which would

eventually turn the story upside down, how fun

to read words not meant for you, it is juicy

like the gossip among the clouds who are

on a strike against relief, against mercy

.

I am a hunchback, a monkey(a ta(i)l(e) is missing)

perusing the benefits of food and drink,

to shoo away the flies of action, ants of

angular articulations,

.

let me rise… up, up, up,

let me be with the space, that ceiling

which we gawk at from the land, so to loot

some respite from this heat burning within me

and out, shriveling the aspects of this day

I have yet to explore… all these days

I have yet to explore…

.

Image source